


Haven

by Humbae



Category: Ylvis
Genre: AU, Angst, Bodily Harm, Gen, Violence, brofeels, h/c
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humbae/pseuds/Humbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vegard is just about to turn in for the night when an unexpected knock on the door interrupts the quiet evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on tumblr, just doing some archiving here.
> 
> There is also a truly fantastic reading of this fic done by the wonderful Minolyn: http://ylvispodfics.tumblr.com/post/95744884328/haven-by-humbae

Vegard was slouching on his sofa, eyes nearly closed, barely aware of the documentary playing on TV. His large orange cat was sitting on his lap, occasionally purring a bit. The sun had gone down hours ago, casting the small living room into darkness broken only by the glare of the screen.

Vegard was drifting into sleep, wasting a perfectly fine Saturday night by doing nothing. He'd been feeling poorly all day, fearing he was succumbing to the flu epidemic that had been going around, as was typical in late autumn. Bård had asked him to join for a drink or two at his favourite bar, but the older brother had refused. Not one to be hindered by the lack of companions, Bård had gone alone.

The night wore on and Vegard slipped fully into slumber. Both his cats were sleeping too and silence reigned. A sudden knock on the door pulled all three occupants of the room back to wakefulness.

Vegard blinked his eyes a couple of times, confused in the darkness. He put his glasses on and looked around. The knock sounded again, only two raps against the door. The dark-haired man got up and made his way to the entrance, pausing only to switch the lights on.

”Bård?” Vegard asked, taking in the appearance of his younger brother.

Bård was a mess. His clothes were wet and dirty: knees bloodied and one pocket of his shirt torn. His lower lip was bleeding, creating a trail down his jaw. There was blood among his hair and the knuckles of his right hand were red and swollen.

”What happened?” Vegard asked and pushed the door fully open, allowing Bård to step in.

”They hit me,” Bård said, sounding far away, as if he couldn't quite believe such a thing had happened to him. ”They... hit me.”

Vegard meant to put his hand on his brother's back to guide him to the sofa, but Bård flinched at the movement and Vegard lowered his hand swiftly.

”Uhh sit down,” the older brother said, trying to come to grips with the situation. Thinking on his feet wasn't one of Vegard's strengths, but he knew Bård needed him and he tried to be methodical about it.

”Are you bleeding anywhere? I can see some blood in your hair,” Vegard asked and carefully approached his brother.

Bård sat down on the sofa, leaning his elbows on his thighs. He didn't give any reaction to Vegard's question.

”Bård?” Vegard pitched his voice low, hoping to sound soothing and not startle his brother.

Bård clenched the light blue material of his shirt between his fingers. His breathing sounded hitchy and shivery. He squeezed his eyes shut just as the first tears fell. Vegard hesitated, hands lifted against his chest. Should he touch his brother or give him space?

One sob escaped Bård's control and Vegard hesitated no longer. He put his arms around his brother, cupping the back of his head with his hand and guiding it against his shoulder. Bård allowed the contact and let go of his shirt, clutching Vegard instead.

Minutes passed as Bård clung to his brother and cried, letting the fear and the anxiety of the evening out. Vegard could only hold his brother, waiting to hear what had happened, starting to feel murderous rage towards whoever had done this to Bård. Vegard didn't care if Bård had taunted someone or initiated the fight, he would shred the responsible parties to pieces if he ever got his hands on them.

Eventually Bård quieted down. Vegard stood up from the awkward position he had been in, perching on the edge of the sofa next to his brother.

”We should get you cleaned up,” he said, mainly to break the silence and explain where he went as he disappeared through the bathroom door to retrieve his first aid kit.

Bård was wiping his eyes with his palms when Vegard returned. The younger brother sniffed loudly and Vegard handed him a tissue from a package under his coffee table.

”Let me see,” the older brother said, voice low. Bård replied by removing his hands from his face. He kept his eyes directed down, but allowed Vegard to see the damage.

”Ehh it's not so bad,” Vegard said, trying to convey comfort instead of sounding condescending or belittling. He didn't always hit the right tone and he always chose the wrong words, but he hoped Bård would feel his intentions, like he often did.

The younger brother snorted lightly, trying not to twist his stinging lip. Vegard tore an antiseptic wet wipe out of its wrapping and proceeded to gently prod at his brother's face. Bård bore it stoically, only hissing and twitching and wincing on every second touch of the cloth.

”What happened to your head?” Vegard asked as he parted his brother's brown hair to find the source of the red areas.

”You don't want to know what happened more generally?” Bård asked, voice quiet.

”This is urgent,” Vegard replied, consumed in the task he was performing.

”It's probably from the glass.”

”What glass?”

”Do you want the full story or not?”

Vegard paused. He had been too distracted to pay attention to his brother. Looking at Bård, he realised the other wanted to tell what had happened, to talk about it. Vegard felt shame redden his cheeks.

”Yeah, tell me.”

”So I went to the bar...”

Bård recounted the tale of his night out. It had started benignly enough: met some friends, had a few drinks, did some harmless flirting, nothing out of the ordinary. The trouble started when someone recognised Bård. They wanted him to tell them a joke or do a trick. Bård more or less politely refused. The situation escalated and Bård ended up behind the bar where three men had beaten the celebrity, gleeful beyond sober reason for leaving their mark on something pretty, as they put it.

Bård had been left alone, lying in a puddle of stagnant water. At some point, one of the men had smashed an empty beer bottle against the wall, showering Bård in a rain of broken glass. The shards had been captured in his hair, cutting small wounds in his scalp. The ground under his head had been stained with red. Bård remembered looking at those splotches on the faded asphalt, but after that his memories went hazy. He only knew he had been scared and hurting, and the overwhelming need to be with someone he trusted had guided his steps to Vegard's door.

After the story was done, Vegard found the small wounds on his brother's head. He studied them with obsessive precision and came to the conclusion that there weren't any pieces of glass remaining amongst the blood. He dabbed at them the best he could with a new sheet, trying to control the shaking in his hands.

Someone had hurt his younger brother. Someone had touched the precious body with the intention of harming it. Vegard could hardly contain his rage. The furious waves pounded against his reason, threatening to rip his failing control apart. This could not be tolerated. This was unforgivable.

Vegard closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He needed to stay calm. Bård did not need him to be angry. Bård needed him to hold them both together.

”Anything bleeding under there?” Vegard asked and indicated Bård's upper body.

Bård shook his head in reply.

”Want to take a shower? I'll make you a bed.”

The look of silent gratitude Bård directed at his brother made Vegard uncomfortable. He busied himself by retrieving a towel, clean clothes and bedsheets from a cupboard in his bedroom. When he returned, Bård had managed to climb to his feet, holding a hand against his side. Vegard figured he had probably been kicked when he was down and the burning rage threatened to return. He handed the towel and clothes over and watched as Bård limped to the bathroom.

Vegard pulled the cushions off his couch with aggression that scared his cats who had been lurking in their climbing tree. Vegard felt like yelling and hitting something. Instead he rammed a spare blanket inside the sheet, brutally pulling the corners straight. By the time he had the pillow inside its case, he was breathing hard and feeling vaguely nauseated.

Alone and with nothing productive to do while he waited for his brother, Vegard was reminded why he hadn't joined his brother in the first place. He sat down and breathed deep. Could this have been avoided if he had gone with Bård? Was this all, albeit indirectly, Vegard's fault?

”Your shampoo smells awful,” Bård declared as he stepped out from the bathroom followed by a whoosh of humid, warm air.

Vegard saw that Bård had pulled himself together, but his control had to be fragile.

”It's just coconut.”

”Who in their right mind would ever want their hair to smell like coconut?” the younger brother countered, sounding irritable. Vegard ignored the tone and patted the sofa. Bård followed the nonverbal cue and sat down next to his brother.

”Hungry?” Vegard asked, food for once the last thing on his mind but he felt the need to offer it anyway.

”Not really,” Bård said quietly. His thigh was pressing against Vegard's and the older brother felt the reassuring heat of his skin. His brother was alive and mostly unharmed. Everything would be okay.

”Did you drink a lot?”

”Just a couple of beers.”

”Want to be left alone?”

Silence.

Vegard figured the lack of a response meant that Bård didn't want to be by himself but couldn't say it out loud. He hoped he was reading the situation correctly and leaned against the back of the sofa. His doubts were vanquished a moment later when Bård imitated his brother and leaned back, brushing the shorter man's side.

”There's a _Roast_ on,” Vegard noted as he grabbed the remote.

”Cool.”

The brothers sat side by side, eyes fixed on the screen in front of them but not really concentrating on the show. Had an outsider asked them who was the main guest of the show, neither could've answered.

Vegard was adamant to stay awake and look over his brother, but he found his eyes drifting shut against his will. At some point of the night he felt someone remove his glasses and snuggle against his side. He fuzzily thought the warm presence was one of his cats, but the form was much too large. He put his arm around it anyway and was rewarded with a contented sigh. Vegard squeezed a little bit tighter and felt thin arms circle him in return. His last thought before he fully lost the battle against sleep was:

_I will always protect you._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings have been updated, please heed them.

Bård sees the alley behind the bar. Darkness surrounds him, leaving no buildings or street lights visible, just the impenetrable black. The men circling him are faceless and impossibly tall. They taunt him with their wide bodies and reaching hands, but none of them touch him. Bård is trapped. He can't escape the unbroken chain of flesh. Each man around him takes a step forwards, one by one, closing in. He can't endure any longer. Waking up is the only way to end the horror.

Bård blinks rapidly in the low light. For a moment he doesn't know where he is. Then the white ceiling starts taking on characteristics that he recognises. That crack in the corner, leading down the wall and behind the light blue curtains. That stringy cactus on the windowsill, looking like a strong breeze would tear its limbs apart. That rhythmic ticking of the yellow clock with pink hands, high on the wall behind him. Vegard's place.

The memories don't give Bård longer to orient himself. They flood his head and steal the warmth he has felt until then. His dream was real. Everything hurts.

Bård swallows and wishes for a sip of water. He listens to the sounds around him. When he casts his thoughts out of his head, he becomes aware of a bubbling sound. He needs a moment to realise it's porridge boiling on a stove. Vegard prefers a hot meal in the morning over the bowl of cereal Bård usually consumes.

Reaching with his arms towards the white ceiling, Bård carefully stretches. His muscles are sore and he needs to visit the bathroom. The ribs on his side give a warning twinge, making him put his arms down and relax. Bård hears his brother cough in the other room and is reminded of how thirsty he is. Food is the last priority on Bård's list but he'll go into the kitchen and eat anyway, force things into normality. He slips his bare feet out from under the blanket and stands up, listening to his body. There is no unexpected pain, just the aches he knows will stab him when he moves. He leaves the bedclothes in a tangle. Vegard will most likely kick him out soon so he'll have to dismantle the warm nest anyway. His brother has never been fond of over-night guests.

Bård finishes his business in the bathroom and saunters into the kitchen. Vegard is slowly stirring a small metal pot with a wooden spoon, eyes staring vacantly ahead. He's wearing a shabby pair of light grey sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt. Nothing in the short and slender figure says _safety_ or _protection_ but Bård feels like nothing can hurt him while he's with his older brother. It's not physical anyway, although Bård would fear to see anyone threaten him with Vegard in the vicinity. The smaller man is like a terrier protecting its puppies when angered.

”Morning,” Bård says, startling Vegard out of his thoughts.

”Slept well?” Vegard asks, almost automatically. Bård finds it endearing rather than infuriating that his brother probably doesn't even realise how insensitive his question could be, considering the experience Bård had the previous night and the likelihood of it visiting his dreams.

Bård doesn't lie and say that he slept like a baby, but neither does he tell the truth. He complains about the lumpy sofa and the loud water pipes instead.

”Like seriously, was someone filling an indoors swimming pool at three in the morning or what,” Bård whines, causing Vegard to chuckle. It quickly turns into coughing. Bård raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. If his brother hates something more than people using his toilet, it's talking about his health.

”When's breakfast?” Bård asks as he sits down at the small table. Vegard clears his throat and informs him that the porridge needs only five more minutes. Bård isn't really looking forwards to the prospect of eating, but he keeps his mouth shut. He gets up again and fills a glass with cold water. His lower lip stings when it meets the liquid, but he empties two glasses anyway. He sits back down and waits, looking out through the window.

The streets are empty. No cars are driving past the apartment in the gloomy morning. Grey clouds glide across the blue sky, dimming the rising sun. It is the very definition of a depressing autumn Sunday with nothing happening.

Bård doesn't like the inactivity. The silence gives too much space for the thoughts inside his head. He isn't eager to leave Vegard's apartment and company. The small three-room place is familiar to him and he knows nothing can touch him in it.

Except Vegard's cats. The two creatures have left the confines of their climbing tree and rub themselves against Bård's legs. He's glad for the sweatpants he's wearing: the thick material saves him from feeling the tickling fur of the small animals. They're usually not very affectionate with him. For a moment Bård entertains the idea that the cats can sense that he's out of sorts that morning, until he scoffs at the silly thought.

“Fill their water bowl while you're loitering,” Vegard commands. Contrary words die on Bård's lips and he suffocates his first instinct of disobedience. Maybe if he's useful, Vegard will let him stay in the haven a little bit longer.

“Fine,” Bård grumbles and bends to fetch the neon green bowl from the floor. His ribs burn with pain at the movement but he keeps silent. He takes the steps to the sink to pour out the old water, feeling the heat from his brother's body as he passes him.

The men in his dream were cold. Nothing about them was human but the fear they invoked.

After Bård's done with his task and back to sitting, Vegard brings the pot to the table and goes to grab bowls and spoons for them. Bård puts his hands behind his neck and makes a show of visibly relaxing into the position. Vegard only snorts at his brother's antics. Bård is certain his brother recognises the show for what it is. One word and he will help Vegard with anything, but not without demonstrating his mock reluctance first. Slipping into the familiar role helps bring the normality Bård so desperately craves closer. The faceless men retreat.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Neither brother has much appetite. Eventually Bård gets tired of pushing the lumpy porridge around in his bowl and gingerly eats it, followed by a glass of water. He keeps sitting and looks at Vegard who seems to be in his own world, poking his food and leaning his head on his left hand that's propped up on the table. Vegard once interrupts his motions of eating to blow his nose and Bård frowns. Apparently Vegard wasn't just ditching him with lies the previous night when he claimed he wasn't feeling well.

Bård looks down at his hands. The knuckles on the right one hurt: the skin is red and raw. He doesn't remember hitting anyone. He barely remembers anything but the blows and the kicks and the relentless pain that bloomed all over his body. Being pushed to the ground, feeling the rough asphalt under his palms. Getting showered with shards of glass, hearing the delicate clinks. The silence in the room brings the memories closer.

“I'll take a shower!” Bård announces, not really needing one, but wanting to break the moment somehow. “Give me a towel?”

“Huh?” Vegard asks and raises his gaze to meet Bård's for the first time that morning. Bård is sure the darkened skin under his brother's eyes is the result of a sleepless night and he tries to quench the feeling of guilt. Not his fault if his idiotic brother chose to stay close to him until the small hours of the morning.

Shame engulfs Bård despite his resistance when he remembers the warm hand around his middle. He had been certain that his brother was asleep already when he snuggled under his arm, secure in the knowledge that his act of dependence would go undetected. But Vegard was conscious enough to squeeze Bård and mutter some embarrassing nonsense. Bård fell asleep in that safe grip, knowing that no one could hurt him when he was protected by the narrow barrier of muscles and bones. Vegard must've left at some point during the night, since Bård woke up alone and under a blanket, tucked in like a child.

“I need a towel,” Bård repeats. Vegard blinks his tired, bloodshot eyes and nods.

“Sure,” he says and gets up, abandoning his still nearly full bowl in the sink on his way out of the kitchen.

Bård frowns after his brother has left the room. It's not like Vegard to leave most of his food uneaten. Bård stands up and follows, stopping to wait in the living room. Vegard reappears and wordlessly hands over a fluffy blue towel, disappearing back into the kitchen. Bård starts stripping, for once not discarding his borrowed clothes where they land but placing them neatly on the sofa. He hears Vegard have a proper coughing fit in the other room. Judging by the sounds, he's certain he would see his brother leaning both hands on the kitchen table and gasp for breath if he were to peek in through the doorway. But Bård stays away. His brother would not welcome the intrusion into what he undoubtedly considers a private moment of weakness.

With a half-amused, half-despairing shrug, Bård steps into the bathroom. He crosses the narrow threshold into the shower area and cranks the tap to as hot as he can stand it, hissing as the spray hits him. The water feels good. Bård spreads shower gel from the first bottle his hands encounter all over his body, rubbing hard, making his bruises scream in pain. He skips washing his hair, not wanting to smell like coconut for the day. It's funny how he has never smelled it on Vegard. He idly wonders what other secrets or things that have slipped his notice he might discover and suddenly understands a little bit why Vegard hates having someone invade his privacy, even if most of it is just pointless paranoia.

When Bård steps out of the bathroom, towel around his middle, dripping wet and relaxed, he notices that Vegard has collected the spare blanket and sheet away. By the unmistakeable sign, Bård knows his cue to leave will soon follow. The dread he feels at the prospect of returning to his silent and empty apartment starts to seep in. He grabs his neatly folded clothes and considers going to the bedroom to change. One look at his brother, fast asleep sitting up on the sofa, tells him he doesn't need to bother. He drops the towel on the floor and allows the cool air to dry him fully, his nakedness witnessed only by two felines.

The animals are sitting on the coffee table, looking at Bård with their green and yellow eyes, no doubt judging him. Bård wrenches his eyes away from his brother's pets, telling himself he is insane for thinking the cats have anything but dreams of catching mice in their heads. He pulls his borrowed clothes on and wonders what Vegard did with his jeans and shirt from the previous night. Knowing his brother, they are probably in the washing machine or already in the drier, soft and warm, ready to accompany Bård out the door.

Unwilling to take that step towards leaving, Bård finishes dressing in the sweatpants and t-shirt. He neatly folds the towel and sets it on the coffee table next to the cats. Bård's own housekeeping isn't as meticulous as his brother's, but he recognises that antagonising Vegard by making a mess will only get him expelled sooner.

Bård bends closer to the sleeping figure on the sofa and slips his hand under the stray curls hanging on Vegard's forehead. Just as he thought, the skin is unpleasantly warm to the touch. Bård sighs in exasperation and goes to Vegard's bedroom to find clean socks. While he's there, he pulls the green blanket to the side on the bed that had been made with military precision, opening it invitingly. The urge to crawl in and escape reality is nearly tangible. Instead, Bård pulls on a pair of black socks and returns to the living room.

“Wake up!” Bård nudges his brother on the shoulder. Vegard opens his eyes immediately and looks around in confusion.

“Relocating to the bedroom,” Bård explains. Vegard doesn't seem to understand what his brother means until he grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Vegard asks, voice broken and hoarse.

“Don't talk,” Bård instructs, deriving twisted pleasure from the outraged look on his brother's face.

Vegard doesn't get a chance to protest before Bård has already dragged him through the doorway and deposited him on his bed, utilising his slightly superior strength.

“Lie down,” Bård says when his brother just sits and looks at him, feet dangling over the edge.

“Are you going?” Vegard asks. Bård waits until he's done coughing before he replies.

“Nah, I'm staying to take care of you,” he says and grabs the blanket, waiting for Vegard to obey. Bård feels his pulse accelerating, making his hands unsteady. This will be it. Vegard will tell him to leave and return to the cold emptiness that reigns in his home. Alone but for the images from his nightmares.

“No, I'll take care of you,” Vegard says and swallows a yawn.

Bård rolls his eyes, signalling what he thinks of his brother's protest. He keeps his secret jubilation from manifesting itself outwardly. Vegard didn't ask him to leave. His brother's only objection was over who would take care of whom. Bård has no interest in technicalities. All he needs is to be near someone who isn't hostile towards him.

“Yeah yeah, just lie down already,” Bård says and aids in the process by shoving Vegard hard on the shoulder. There is an annoyed grunt, but Vegard allows himself to be knocked down. Bård covers him with the thick blanket, pulling it up to his nose.

“How's your... body?” Vegard asks. He tugs the blanket down to his shoulders. Bård wonders what his brother nearly said before correcting himself. “There's painkillers in the bathroom if you need them.”

“I'm just peachy,” Bård replies and constructs an arrogant grin on his face. He has every intention of raiding the medicine cabinet later, but Vegard doesn't need to know how badly every movement hurts him. “You want any?”

Vegard actually considers it. Bård allows his surprise to show. His brother isn't usually one to rely on chemical relief.

“Nah,” he finally says and blinks slowly.

“Just sleep if you're tired,” Bård suggests. Vegard replies by pulling a tissue from a box on his nightstand and blowing his nose. He tosses the used paper on the floor and that's when Bård realises just how badly he's feeling. Vegard never allows such a mess in his apartment.

“Are you sure you're... okay?” Vegard asks, looking at Bård with those earnest brown eyes. The younger brother wants to answer with a flippant comment, write the worry off as a joke. Something keeps him from doing it. Some spark in him wants to tell Vegard how scared he was and how safe he is feeling now and how he never wants to leave, but he knows he must eventually go back to his own apartment and the words stay within.

They rarely talk of things that matter. They're rarely silent with each other, but the words they toss back and forth are meaningless or relating to work or small everyday things. Bård is not sure how his attempts at sincerity would be taken. Vegard wouldn't outright laugh at him, but Bård instinctively knows he wouldn't penetrate to the deepest layers either, where Vegard would accept what he's saying and reciprocate the honesty.

Bård's decision takes a long time to form. He remains standing between the bed and the door. Vegard sneezes and rushes to grab a new tissue to cover his face with. Bård takes a deep breath and belatedly answers his brother's question, against every instinct screaming at him.

“I'm not really sure,” Bård says, seeing alarm fill his brother's eyes. “I did nothing and they attacked me. That's not fair. They hurt me!”

Bård's voice gains volume and he physically cannot stop the words from pouring out once he allows them to start dribbling. His heart picks up speed, fuelling the flames of rage that creep into him.

“Do you know what it's like to be kicked in the ribs? It hurts like a bitch! And there were so many of them. I never even had a chance to defend myself! How's that fair?” Bård is yelling now. Tears are stinging his eyes and his hands are tightly fisted.

“I didn't ask to be harassed like that! We say we know the risks of fame and we accept that, but this isn't what I signed up for! Why was it me who was treated like this and not _you_!”

Bård is breathing hard after he stops ranting. Vegard is looking at him in apparent alarm, not daring to move or say anything. His mouth is slightly open and he's squeezing the blanket tight between his fingers.

“Sorry,” Bård finally mutters. He covers his face with his hands, wanting to disappear and block out the world. It's a pointless gesture but gives him a moment's respite and a false sense of control. The anger begins to dissipate, allowing cold numbness to soothe him.

“No, I'm sorry,” Vegard says, keeping his eyes down. “I should've been there, I know that. I should've protected you.”

_Yeah, you should've_ , Bård's treacherous mind quips before he can distance himself from the hurt and the feeling of betrayal. His rationality is rattling the bars of its cage, begging to be let out. Bård ignores it.

“I was so alone,” he says. He blinks furiously and turns his head away from the heart-broken look on his brother's face. “I did nothing to deserve that. And no one stood by my side, no one helped me.”

The faceless men surround him again. Their voices are garbled growls, making no sense. Were they even human?

“They could've killed me,” Bård whispers. Vegard can't hide the audible gasp in his congested state.

“I'm sorry,” Vegard whispers. “I'm so sorry.”

“Are you going to fucking cry?” Bård snaps, much harsher than he intends. His hurt and anger have been unleashed and there is no other target for them but his brother. He fights an irrational urge to punch him in the face.

There is no reply. Bård raises his eyes and turns towards his brother. Vegard has gone still. He looks down to his blanket-covered lap, mouth pressed into a tight line. The silence is broken only by his heavy breathing. He looks pitiful and small from Bård's perspective.

“Sorry,” Bård mutters. He sits down heavily on the bed, narrowly missing his brother's legs.

“You don't have to apologise to me,” Vegard says. His positive tone is forced, trying too hard to hide the hurt.

“Yes I do. That was unfair and childish.” Bård is proud of the way he can keep his voice steady. His head is a mess, but he can contain the chaos within.

“I'm sorry I wasn't there,” Vegard says again. His cheeks are red and his eyes have an unhealthy sheen. Bård knows he should let his brother sleep but he needs the presence of another human to keep the faceless men out.

“They would've just beaten you up too,” Bård replies. He stands up from the bed and slips the edge of the blanket under Vegard's feet to trap the heat better.

“Maybe I could've stopped them from ever... “ Vegard lets his sentence wither and Bård thinks it's because he cannot bring himself to say the words, to verbalise what was done to his little brother. On closer look it becomes apparent that Vegard is fighting against another coughing fit. A losing battle.

Bård leaves his brother alone for a moment and walks to the kitchen to get some water. He hears Vegard succumb through the wall. It does not sound good. He pauses for one moment to splash some cold water on his face. It seems to work in movies so why not in real life, he reckons. The truth is, it does help. The sudden shock breaks his cycle of thoughts and all he can focus on is the physical sensation prickling his skin.

Bård deems himself fit for human interaction again and returns to the bedroom with a full glass in hand.

“Trying to get rid of your lungs?” Bård asks, colouring his tone with sarcasm to hide the worry. Vegard is sitting up, leaning forwards, tears in his eyes, gasping for breath between the dry hacks. Bård hands over the glass of water and Vegard downs it in one go.

Vegard mouths a thanks and lies down. The conversation is still shimmering in the air between them, but Bård needs a moment to cool down, force some distance between them.

“Yell if you need something,” Bård says, but Vegard is already halfway to slumber. He makes sure the blanket covers his brother fully and exits the room. The cats slip in through his legs. Bård does nothing to try to stop them. Vegard doesn't even twitch when the orange monstrosity hops on his stomach and curls up. The sleek brown one slinks under the bed, perfectly happy to close its yellow eyes there. Bård leaves the door open and throws himself face-down on the sofa in the living room.

He is numb after feeling so much. The waves of emotion are tiring and Bård yearns for the complete oblivion only sleep can provide. He listens to the silence and curses. Even with his brother on the other side of the wall, Bård is alone again. The ugly clock keeps ticking the minutes away, nearly echoing in the empty room.

Bård regrets his words from earlier. He revealed too much, heaped too much of his hurt on his brother. Vegard would happily shoulder the guilt, the instinct to protect his younger brother is rooted in too deep, but Bård has no right to push it on him. He feels like he has sullied his haven. He has thrown so much shit on the walls that it'll be a miracle if he's allowed to stay.

Bård rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes. The feeling of wrongness lingers, but he forces it to lie dormant. His peace is fragile and artificial, but for now, the storm is quieted. Sleep seems far away, but before he knows it, he's slipping fully into it, allowing the waves to pull him under.

*****

Bård wakes up an hour later, feeling refreshed and good. He can't define it more specifically: he's warm and comfortable and all the woes of the world seem far away. There's a purring weight on his stomach. Bård lifts his head minutely and comes face to face with the sleek brown cat. It's staring at him with the dead yellow eyes.

“Morning, Geir,” Bård greets the cat. He can only blame the inexplicable positivity for allowing the animal to stay where it is instead of shoving it off. Bård even reaches a hand and rubs the feline under the chin. The purring intensifies.

“You're not too bad,” Bård mutters. His cheeks immediately flare up with a wash of red. He's happy there's no one there to hear him.

“Okay, bugger off,” Bård says and pushes the cat's furry side. It vacates the warm spot silently, landing on soft paws on the hardwood floor. Bård follows, groaning as his body aches with the movement. He wonders if some ribs are broken, judging by the intensity of the pain. Maybe he ought to visit a doctor, let a professional evaluate if there's anything dangerously wrong with him. Bård doesn't think so, but he'd rather err on the side of safety.

Finding the light switch in the gloom of the cloudy day without his contacts is a challenge. Bård eventually flicks it on and pauses to yawn. He peeks inside Vegard's bedroom. His brother is still fast asleep, wrapped tightly in his blanket. Bård closes the door and retreats.

Bård is lost as to what he should do next. He's uncomfortable being in Vegard's home when his brother's not supervising him. Bård doesn't want to touch his laptop or dig around too much in his closets and cupboards. He settles on standing in the middle of the living room, squinting at the hideous yellow clock to see what time it is.

“Jesus!” Bård yelps when suddenly the orange monstrosity bumps its head against his leg. “What do you want?” he asks and bends to pat the creature awkwardly on its shaggy back. The cat meows loudly, startling Bård.

“Hungry?” he guesses and wanders into the kitchen to check if there's food in the bowls. There is none and Bård is left with a colossal decision: what should he feed to the cats? Vegard probably has a system, but Bård settles with opening random cupboard doors in the kitchen and searching for anything that looks cat-approved. He finds the right door and nearly yells in frustration. There are numerous small tins, large boxes and an opened sack of something foul-smelling. His knowledge of felines is too limited to deduce which of the packages contains regular cat food.

“So what do you normally eat on Sundays? Is there an Excel sheet with instructions?” Bård asks, questioning his sanity with each new utterance.

The cats offer nothing in reply. They stand next to the food bowls, staring at Bård with their hostile eyes. Bård idly wonders if Vegard has taught them to wait for their food so neatly or if it's a cat thing.

“Fine, you get this nasty stuff. Don't come crying to me if you don't like it,” he says and grabs the opened bag. He doesn't even bother trying to read the small letters. There's a picture of a cat on it, that must be a good sign.

Small brown pellets fall into the bowls and the cats are all over them. Bård hums happily, puts the sack back to the cupboard where he found it from and opens the fridge. Taking care of the cats' hunger has made him conscious of his own. He finds a sealed container that looks like left-overs. A peek under the lid reveals it to be creamy salmon pasta. Bård grins in appreciation and pops the thing into the micro. With lunch on its way, Bård visits the bathroom.

After washing his hands, Bård opens the door to Vegard's bedroom. His brother isn't awake yet so Bård leaves him alone. A tantalising scent from the kitchen floats to meet his nose and Bård returns to devour his food, joined by the cats in the corner. He makes a silent promise to cook something for Vegard if he shows any interest in food, dissolving the guilt he might feel from stealing the meal. After he's done, Bård is comfortably full and annoyingly bored. In a fit of loneliness, he does what no self-respecting adult ever should do: he plays with the cats.

Malvin and Geir are suspicious at first, but after Bård wiggles a stick with a bundle of brightly-coloured feathers tied to its end long enough, their predatory instincts take over and both felines pounce at the thing, hissing at each other and pawing at the toy. Bård enjoys the show, suppressing any giggles that try to escape the confines of his mouth. He's tossing the cats' toys around, wiggling the stick and jingling a plushy mouse and laughing quietly when the cats hop around the room and race all over each other. There is nothing else in his mind in that moment, only the vibrant, living animals and the joy they give him. Bård barely even hears the footsteps behind him.

“Thought you hated them,” Vegard says. Bård would interpret the words as humorous or sarcastic, but Vegard doesn't sound the least bit amused. Bård turns around and observes his brother. Vegard has pulled a worn old green robe around his shoulders and is hugging himself. His face is pale, cheeks red and eyes glassy. Bård doesn't need to slap a hand against his skin to feel the fever burning in him. Vegard wipes his nose on the back of his hand and sniffs. Bård wonders why he even left the bed.

“Hungry?”

“Thirsty,” Vegard replies and shuffles to the kitchen. Bård can't tell if Vegard is pissed off from earlier or if he's cranky on account of feeling miserable. He leaves the cats alone and follows his brother.

“You could've just asked, I'd have brought you water,” Bård remarks. Vegard ignores him.

“Are you pouting at me? Real mature,” Bård says, heat creeping into his tone.

“Leave me alone,” Vegard hisses, interrupted by coughing once again.

Bård says nothing. There it is, his order to leave. He's not sure if he would prefer the quiet solitude of his apartment to Vegard's open hostility. The need to be near another living person wins and Bård takes a step back to give his brother some space.

“And who will look after your cats then?” Bård tries, knowing Vegard would not risk his beloved pets for anything. From the blank and startled look on his brother's face, Bård sees he has struck a nerve. “Already fed them, didn't see you care either way.”

“They'll be fine,” Vegard says, but there's no strength behind his voice. He sets his empty glass down on the counter and vacates the kitchen. Bård punches his own thigh, hurting both the leg and the knuckles on his hand with the blow. Frustration and a feeling of desolation start to build in him, extinguishing the warmth he so desperately tries to cling to. He follows Vegard again, only to be faced with the bathroom door slamming shut.

The cats immediately come to Bård when he sits on the floor to wait. He reaches his hand and scratches both at the same time. It's deceptively easy to make the creatures content: all they require is food and a gentle touch and the fierce predators reveal their bellies to him. Bård closes his eyes and listens to the purring from the animals crowding his lap.

Eventually the bathroom door opens and Vegard staggers out. He looks pale and tired. Without a word or a glimpse in Bård's direction, he slips into the bedroom. Bård follows and bends to pick up the robe his brother discards on the floor. Vegard lies down and pulls the blanket up to his chin.

“Listen, I need to talk to you,” Bård says. Vegard opens his eyes and seems to be pleading silently with him. For a long moment, he doesn't say anything, but he acknowledges Bård's presence. He coughs a couple of times and clears his throat before talking.

“What is it?”

“I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier.” Bård looks for excuses he could offer but anything he says would reveal too much. _Yelling at you made the fear in me quiet down. The more of the hurt I got out, the less remained festering inside. The faceless men started fading_.

“No, I'm sorry,” Vegard says. “I'm glad that you're here. And thanks for taking care of the cats.”

The brothers look at each other, directly in the eyes. They hold the connection for a moment, until Vegard breaks off first. He leans forwards and starts coughing again. Bård stands awkwardly and waits for the fit to pass. When it does, Vegard is out of breath and lies back down.

“Okay?” Bård asks. Vegard makes a non-committal grunt in reply. Bård interprets it as 'leave me alone and let me sleep.'

“Just say if you want something, you don't need to get up while I'm here,” Bård says sternly. He makes a mental note to bring a glass of water for the nightstand.

Vegard nods, eyes closed and mouth pressed shut. Bård understands his dismissal and wanders to the kitchen. He nearly steps on a cat when he's returning to the bedroom with a full glass. Some water splashes over and lands on the brown animal. It yowls in protest and Bård actually kneels down to pet it apologetically. He has truly lost his mind. One day with the animals and he's already turning into a crazy cat lady.

Bård enters the bedroom again and sets the glass on the bedside table. Vegard is already asleep, almost disappearing under the blanket. His breathing sounds a little bit wheezy and Bård frowns. He pushes the gnawing sensation of worry aside and leaves the room.

There is nothing on TV but Bård plants himself on the sofa and opens the flatscreen anyway. He flicks through the channels and finally settles on a gardening program. He enjoys tending to plants. He may only have a small balcony in his apartment, but it's filled to the brim with flowers each summer. Inside, he has numerous pots full of houseplants that he waters and prunes with almost fatherly tenderness. Vegard once remarked that the plants were Bård's pets.

The narrator on television – an elderly British lady with a posh RP accent – is just giving advice on how to plant tulips when Bård hears Vegard start coughing again. The fit goes on and on and Bård misses an important detail about the planting season that hasn't been subtitled. Irritated, he gets up and stalks to the bedroom.

“Vegard!” Bård snaps from the door, pulling his brother's attention to himself. Vegard is sitting up, alternating between gasping for breath and hacking it out. His wet cheeks glisten in the light from the living room and he's holding his sides.

Bård sits on the bed and grabs Vegard's shoulders. His brother slumps against him and Bård awkwardly manoeuvres him to lean on his chest. Vegard keeps coughing for a long time. When he finally stops he is breathless and goes limp. Bård keeps the form snug in his embrace. Vegard is a solid warm weight pressing against him. He rests his head on Bård's shoulder, the fluffy curls tickling the younger brother's cheek.

”You ruined this for me,” Bård whispers. Vegard has gone quiet, asleep in a safe place.

“I wanted _this_ from you. This is all I asked.”

The ugly clock in the living room counts the minutes away. Bård is frozen on the bed, his brother's unconscious body against his. Rage slowly starts seeping into him. He remembers the pain and the fear from the previous night. The desperate need for someone to shield him from the blows, for someone to stand up for him. Dragging himself up to find the one place where he would be safe and receive unconditional caring, without having to elaborate why he can't leave.

He needs to be weak: to fall apart and be held together by a force stronger than he is able to be.

The faceless men approach in the silence. Nothing stands between them and Bård. He tries to resist the raised arms that beckon him to follow, to join them. The warm weight against Bård's chest is not enough to anchor him.

A red mist descends.

Vegard makes a soft sound of distress when he's pulled awake by a tight grip in his hair. Bård steps off the bed and moves backwards, forcing Vegard to follow until he ends up on the floor. Bård doesn't say anything, just looks at his older brother cowering on the floor, alarm apparent in the protective way he holds his hands up in front of his face, shoulders hunched.

“Bård?” Vegard asks, voice hoarse and inquisitive. There is no fear or anger in his tone, only confusion.

Bård leans down to grab hold of Vegard's t-shirt and he yanks the shorter man to his feet, bundling the material in his hands and lifting curtly. Vegard doesn't have time to get his legs under him before Bård flings him to the side, so suddenly that Vegard can't catch himself and break the fall. He hits the floor hard, head smashing against the pale yellow wood with a brutal thud.

Bård approaches his brother and tangles his fingers in the dark hair again. Vegard gasps in surprise, not having had time to recover from the dizzying impact. Bård pulls slowly, allowing Vegard to stand up on his own. The brown eyes dart around in bewilderment and Vegard's breath comes fast, wheezing slightly.

The hands release their hold of the curls. Bård looks down on his brother's hunched form. Vegard sways but remains standing, eyes coming up to meet Bård's. The blue depths are impenetrable, betraying nothing of the storm raging behind them.

Vegard gets no warning before a fist slams against his face.

The blow is powerful enough to knock Vegard off his feet. He lands ungracefully backwards, only barely managing to keep his head from hitting the floor again. Before the older brother can re-orient himself, a foot connects with his ribs, forcing the air out of his lungs. For a moment, Vegard can't breathe. The burning sensation in his chest intensifies until he manages to gasp and cough. The pain focuses on two ribs, but Vegard can't examine what he feels, for another kick, this time with the heel in a brutal downwards motion makes pain explode in his lower back, blacking out his vision for a few frightening seconds.

Bård listens to his brother's frantic efforts to pull air into his lungs. Vegard is writhing on the floor, coughing and gasping, hands clutching his back in a vain attempt to ease the agony impaling him. His cheek is pressed against the floor, eyes wide open and mouth slack. Bård could slam his foot on that head and possibly crush the skull, spreading the brains all over the clean floor. The red mist pushes him forwards and Bård starts approaching his brother.

Vegard is openly weeping now. Bård takes a couple of running steps and kicks his brother's shoulder with brutal force, earning a high-pitched howl from Vegard. He bends down and pulls Vegard's head up by the luxurious curls again. The brown eyes barely focus on Bård, leaking tears down his cheeks. Bård slaps him almost casually across the face, the sound echoing off the bare walls.

“S-stop!” Vegard stutters. His breath comes in broken wheezy gasps, accompanied by saliva and snot. Bård pulls him up again, yanking hard on the hair when Vegard takes too long to gather his legs under him. Vegard remains upright only because Bård doesn't allow him to collapse. There is a moment of stillness. Bård wraps his hand around Vegard's throat. He squeezes lightly, feeling the heated skin under his fingers. Vegard tries to back off from the touch but Bård holds him still. He applies more pressure, feeling Vegard's struggles grow stronger.

The smaller man tries to free himself from the grip, but Bård moves his other hand to encircle the delicate neck, securing his grip. Vegard's entire weight is held up by his brother, squeezing hard and pushing him against the nearest wall. Vegard can't breathe at all. Silver sparks flutter across his blurry vision, growing in size and gaining bright colours as reality starts to fade.

Vegard is only distantly aware of hitting the floor again. He lays there panting, not in control of the muscles convulsively expanding and contracting to pull in the air his body desperately needs. He jerks suddenly, not fully feeling the kick against his lower back that rocks him. Consciousness has become a fickle thing, teasing the edges of his mind. There is screaming but Vegard can't understand it or place it. The sounds come from all around him, assaulting his ears but not penetrating his confused mind.

“Get up,” Bård says, the voice coming to Vegard as if through a long distance. He can't comprehend the meaning behind the syllables. He's shivering so hard he feels the vibrations against he hardwood floor, jarring every bone in his body. Pain is starting to dissolve the fog in his head, cutting through with its merciless blade. Vegard knows his face is lying in a pool of his own blood and saliva but he can't move his head or close his mouth and stop panting. Another hard impact against his unprotected back threatens to roll him fully onto his stomach.

“I said get up!” Bård shouts and grabs Vegard by the hair again. The smaller man can't orient himself enough to obey and is unable to do anything to aid with the movement. Bård is left with a fistful of dark hair and a prone older brother. His face twists in anger.

The unyielding heel of a foot connects with the soft flesh of Vegard's side and he moans quietly. The pain is constant now, throbbing all over his body, not relenting for one moment to allow him to breathe deep. Vegard tries to beg Bård to stop but he can't get a single word out. Bård is saying something but sounds are muted and Vegard can't make it out. The sudden impacts against him stop and Vegard concentrates on pulling air into his lungs. His respite lasts only for seconds, but it's enough for him to return to full awareness.

“Get up,” Bård snaps and now Vegard hears the command. He's not sure he can obey. He tries anyway. With shaking hands, Vegard pushes himself up on his knees. He doesn't know how he manages to sit up, but suddenly he's looking up at his brother, trying to make eye contact.

The younger brother doesn't reciprocate the gaze. He looks at the blood flowing down along the right side of Vegard's face and under his nose, dripping on the white shirt, creating small blossoms. He looks at the pathetic shivering form and tries to see his brother through the red haze. Vegard is panting audibly. Tears are mixing with the blood on his face and Bård loses the last vestiges of his patience. He yells at Vegard to put his hands flat on the floor. Vegard hesitates too long, earning a slap against his cheek from Bård's open palm.

Vegard places his delicate hands against the cold hardwood floor, head turned to press his stinging cheek against his shoulder. Vegard is crying but Bård ignores it. He looks at the long slender fingers. The bones at the back of the hands are clearly defined, standing out against the pale skin. Two prominent veins snake across the hands, climbing over the bones and disappearing among the flesh. They are flawless.

Bård brings his right heel down on his brother's left hand, grinding it against the floor with his full weight. Vegard's scream is not audible. His mouth is open and air is being expelled but his agonised howl is beyond his broken voice to reach. Bård lifts his foot. Vegard collapses on the floor, clutching the left hand to his chest. He's gasping for breath and sobbing almost violently. Bård approaches him again.

“Get up,” the younger brother says, voice sharp and cold.

Vegard is unable to follow the order. The world is a wildly swinging place and he fears he'll fall off if he tries to get his feet under him. He succumbs to the darkness closing in from the edges of his vision.

Bård grabs his brother's left arm and yanks him up. Vegard leaves the floor with a whine of pain, pulled back to full awareness by the sudden jerk. Bård puts both hands behind his brother's head. His touch is almost gentle, cradling the back of the head and holding Vegard steady as he sways on his knees. With a look of cold deliberation, Bård smashes his brother face-first against the corner of a sturdy wooden closet. Vegard doesn't move after Bård releases his hold on him and allows him to slip back to the floor.

The apartment is shrouded in silence. Bård stands above his brother's unconscious form and pants a little. The red haze begins to dissipate and reveal the room to him.

“I'm in control,” Bård says. There is no reply.

Blood is trickling down the right side of Vegard's swollen face, gathering in a small pool next to his cheek. The sight brings the previous night to Bård's mind in a flash. He was lying on the faded asphalt just like that, with no power to stop what was happening to him. His blood flowed out, just like his brother's is now flowing, with nothing to stop it. He was helpless.

Except it was stopped. Bård came to his brother and received caring and compassion. Vegard eased the hurt just by showing kindness and his love to Bård. He was safe.

The younger brother squeezes his hands into tight fists. His short nails dig into the soft skin of his palms, sending a small jolt of pain up his arms. He has destroyed his saviour. What was his to bear before is now Vegard's too. Bård lowers his lids to block the world from his vision. He can still see the tear-filled brown eyes, looking at up him with confusion and agony.

Those eyes will never look at him the same again.

Bård runs out to the living room and screams. The commotion startles Vegard's cats and they seek shelter under the sofa. Bård can't even consider being in the apartment with all the life and beauty he has sullied. He rushes to the door, throws his jacket and shoes on and pulls the front door open, slamming it shut behind him. He starts ascending the stairs with a furious pace, going faster than his legs are willing to propel him upwards. His thighs scream with the over-exertion, but Bård continues climbing, taking three steps at a time. He reaches the door to the roof and fumbles with the lock for a moment before he manages to pull it open. He runs close to the edge where a low railing blocks his path, jumping over it in one fluid motion. He stops where the grey concrete ends and looks down. The cold pavement beneath him looks distant and inviting. He closes his eyes and breathes in the cooling afternoon air.

It would be so easy to take that final step.

*****

In the apartment, two cats slip through the open bedroom door. A strong odour of blood near their human assaults their noses. They step closer on soft paws, circling the form on the floor. Heavy breathing and the ticking of a clock fill the silence. The shaggy orange cat hops on the human's back and nuzzles the dark hair with its head. No hand reaches to return its affection. Their human is still.

*****

Bård looks to the ground. Faded asphalt and light pavement fill the space between the buildings, covering the dirt beneath. He looks to the sky. Grey clouds stretch across the entire expanse of blue, hiding the sun from sight. He looks to the horizon where the cityscape morphs into a forest. The world is full of emptiness and blank spaces that resonate with his being.

_What did I do?_

Bård thinks of justice. Of what is right and fair. Of the blood on his hands.

_Was that me?_

Sirens blare somewhere to his right. The life around him is unseen but there. Blades of grass push through the smallest cracks in the asphalt.

“I may return,” Bård promises the sky and turns away from the edge.

*****

Bård descends the stairs slowly. He stops in front of Vegard's door. It's identical to the other doors in the hallway: wooden, painted light blue, fastened to its frame by metal hinges. His brother has personalised it with a small plate screwed to the door. On it there are two cats playing with a ball of red yarn. Bård has never entered the apartment without making fun of the ornament.

The door won't open. Bård tries the handle again, as if refusing to believe that it didn't obey him. The realisation fills him: Vegard's apartment building has old-fashioned locks that don't require a key to secure them. For a moment he just stands there, trying to process the situation.

He shouldn't knock. If Vegard has any sense at all, he won't let Bård back into the apartment. But Bård knows he will. If he knocks on that door, Vegard will always open. The choice is Bård's. He can leave and never return, or he can try to do the impossible and start unravelling the damage he has caused. His hand rises with no hesitation.

There is no answer. Bård knocks again, with more force. Only silence meets his expectant ears. In one horrifying moment, the true impact of Bård's actions occurs to him.

_Vegard could be dead._

“Vegard! Open up!” Bård shouts, banging the unyielding wood with both hands. When seconds stretch into minutes, he realises that Vegard won't be opening. Bård keeps yelling his brother's name, not caring about the other doors in the hallway that open, with curious and outraged neighbours peeking from the slits. Bård pushes his pain out through his voice, screaming the name with urgent desperation.

Bård falls silent. A single tear slides down his cheek. He doesn't wipe it away. What right has he to touch something so purifying with his blood-stained hands?

“Vegard!” Bård tries for the last time.

“I'm calling the police!” An elderly woman shouts from her doorway. Bård looks at her, not masking his anguish. She slams the door shut, creating a barricade between herself and the monster in the hallway.

Bård can only commend her for the action. _What have I become?_

With defeat hunching his form, Bård turns away from the door. His steps are heavy as he shuffles along the hallway. Each step down the stairs makes him colder and more numb. By the time he reaches the main entrance of the building, his tears have fully dried and he feels nothing.

The streets are empty. The freezing breeze of the cloudy Sunday afternoon has encouraged people to hide in their homes, to soak in the safety and warmth offered by familiar surroundings and people they love. Bård doesn't look at the windows. He can't bear seeing the lights of life reflected on the shiny panes.

Bård's steps take him to the nearest subway station. He heads to the gate, swipes his card and settles against a wall to wait for a train. Nothing in his appearance hints at the sense of urgency and budding panic that rage within him. He has a destination in mind and he tries to force all his thoughts into that and not think about what he left behind.

The train arrives and Bård gets in. He's alone in the car, greeted only by flickering fluorescent lights. The worn black and blue seats and three silvery candy-wrappers on the floor are the only other signs of life. Desolation presses in on Bård from all sides, making the small hairs at the nape of his neck stand up. He looks around and behind himself several times to make sure that he's still alone.

Bård is sitting on the bench closest to the door. He's not there to enjoy the ride, but the steady hum of the vehicle soothes him regardless. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Apart from his subway card and a packet of gum, his fingers encounter nothing. His wallet, keys and phone were in his jeans that his brother gathered away on the previous night.

Bård closes his eyes for a moment, needing that second of solitude within his own mind. There is no one near him, but he feels the cruel intrusion of the world regardless. It's likely that there are people in the other cars and someone controlling the vehicle, but Bård sees no one and can therefore pretend. His seclusion is only a temporary illusion but a necessary one.

The subway slows to a stop and the doors open with a whoosh. Bård gets up and finds his way through the small station, barely more than a concrete platform at the edge of a forest. This is the end of the line. Bård knows it well. He has travelled the route several times, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by his brother. Walking down the familiar stone steps, he's greeted by trees on ground level. Oaks, maples, two ancient, crooked birches. And among them, home. There has never been a day when Bård would not be welcome in his parents' house.

That's about to change. When Bård's deed becomes known, he will never set foot in that house again.

Maybe Vegard will neither.

A shudder runs through Bård and he hastens his steps. He has to get the spare key from their mother and find out the true depth of his crime. For once in his life, being late could have irreversible repercussions.

The street he walks on is covered in red and yellow leaves. The wind howls against the solid houses on each side. Thin trails of smoke rise from some of the chimneys. The view is idyllic and cosy. Bård can't stand it. He turns left and enters the achingly familiar yard. All fallen leaves have been raked from the still-green lawn into neat piles under the trees. A sudden flash of memory makes Bård almost see the form of two boys, clad in thick overalls and knitted hats with strings tied under their chins, jumping on the piles, giggling and shouting in delight.

With the long gone days haunting his mind, Bård knocks on the door. It takes a moment, but finally their mother opens, raising her brows in surprise at seeing her son come by unannounced. A smile lights up her face.

“Come on in, you're just in time for dinner,” their mother says, as if Bård had been invited and is merely late.

Bård hesitates. His mother has already turned around to go back in, expecting her son to follow. Bård reaches his arms and hugs his mother from behind, squeezing the shorter, sturdier form with force.

“Bård, sweetheart, what is it?”

Bård lets go and takes a step back.

“Do you have Vegard's spare key? I need to borrow it.”

“Sure.” A questioning look. Bård offers no explanation.

“Will you at least stay for dinner?” his mother asks over her shoulder as she walks to the house to retrieve her purse.

“No thanks, have to run,” Bård says, plastering a smile on his face and keeping the anxiety out of his voice.

“Did Vegard lock himself out again? Those silly doors in his building, I've told him to have it changed a million times!” their mother says as she rummages through her cavernous handbag.

“No,” Bård answers before realising that he has no other excuse to offer.

“He umm, forgot something,” Bård tries, hoping that he won't be questioned.

His mother seems to sense her son's unwillingness to elaborate. She gives the key anyway, trusting that it won't be used for anything too bad. Her sons may be pranksters sometimes, but they would never go too far and never hurt each other.

“Thanks mom,” Bård says and turns to go, hearing his mother wish him a good evening.

They're not bad final words. He can live with having verbalised his gratitude to his mother as the last thing she will hear and truly listen to from him. He exits the yard and disappears out of sight from the house.

*****

Bård's hands are shaking when he inserts the key to the hole. The door opens with a short creak and he steps in, calling his brother's name. He closes the door and takes his shoes off. His ears are met with nothing but silence. He pauses to remove his jacket, heart hammering in his chest. Less than ten steps and Bård will be in the bedroom. Less than ten steps and he will know if his brother is alive.

The door is still open and Bård slips through, keeping his eyes on the floor. He first sees his brother's immobile legs, clad in blue socks and light grey sweatpants. Bård forcefully keeps his gaze there, not daring to move it higher along his brother's body to reveal the full extent of the damage.

As Bård stands in the room quietly, he realises he can hear his brother's ragged breathing. The knowledge that Vegard is still alive makes Bård's knees buckle. He allows himself to drop on the floor next to the fallen form. He's close enough to touch, yet still he hesitates. He keeps his gaze transfixed to the cloth-covered feet, not reaching a hand to feel the living heat.

An orange feline enters Bård's line of sight. Its green eyes are focused on Bård, staring relentlessly, as if it were aware of the man's crime.

“I'm sorry,” Bård tells the cat. It slips under the bed.

Vegard's left hand is the next thing Bård has the courage to view. The back of the hand is swollen and discoloured, angry red and sickly purple. The fingers are stained with blood. Bård has the sudden urge to grasp it in his own, but he resists.

“Vegard,” Bård says, finally moving his eyes to his brother's face.

Blood has covered most of Vegard's face. The trails are still red but already showing a brownish tinge. His nose appears slightly crooked and his right cheek is purple and twice its usual size with a long jagged cut running its length, splitting the puffy skin with a gaping red line that still oozes fresh blood down his chin. The lips are slightly parted and stained dark.

“Vegard,” Bård says again, this time gently touching his brother's left shoulder with the tips of his fingers. The lack of a reaction bolsters his courage and he lays his entire hand on Vegard's back. The heat of the skin through the thin white shirt is reassuring and Bård can almost convince himself that everything is fine.

Vegard coughs a couple of times, spreading the half-dried blood under his face further along the floor. Bård quickly lifts his hand off the shoulder, as if the sudden movement under his palm burned him. He rolls Vegard on his back, eliciting a faint groan. He puts his right arm under Vegard's knees and snakes the left arm behind his back. The older brother is not heavy, but Bård feels a twinge of pain in his side when picking his weight off the floor. He carries Vegard to the bed and settles him on it, making sure the neck is straight and resting on a pillow.

Brown eyes open, the left one only barely. Bård enters the field of vision and steels himself for the storm to come. He finds himself curiously calm when the moment of his banishment is approaching. His reaction is intriguing and he almost allows his mind to latch onto the distraction to keep the fluttering panic from entering his chest. But his brother remains silent. The eyes don't focus on anything, moving slowly from side to side, as if searching for something.

Bård calls Vegard's name again. That makes the roaming eyes pause. Vegard's breathing picks up pace, but he still doesn't look directly at his brother. Bård touches the left shoulder again, earning a frightened gasp from Vegard. The older brother closes his eyes and tenses his whole body, hunching his shoulders and drawing his knees up a bit.

“Vegard? Hey, it's just me, I won't hurt you,” the words escape Bård's lips. Every single one of them is a lie.

“I'm here to help you,” Bård adds, truthful this time. He lets his hand linger for one moment longer before breaking the contact. Vegard seems to relax minutely when the warm weight leaves his skin. His face softens, the lines less harsh. Bård finds it difficult to read his expressions under all the dried blood and gets up to give concrete meaning to his words.

Bård enters Vegard's small bathroom. There is a white rectangular medicine cabinet on the wall near the sink. He opens it and takes out the first aid kit, the same one Vegard used on him the previous night. Bård makes sure there are wet wipes and plasters in it. He can't do anything about most of Vegard's injuries, but he can at least clean him up and quench the bleeding on the facial wounds. Before returning to the bedroom, Bård takes one hand towel and wets it with warm water.

Vegard hasn't moved while Bård nipped to the other room. He is still huddling on the bed, tense and rigid. Bård isn't sure if his brother is fully conscious. He doesn't acknowledge Bård's presence or react to anything he says. Bård tries to think and remember how many impacts and of what magnitude Vegard took to his head, but the events are covered in a red haze in his mind. It would be so easy to convince himself that someone else did this to his brother, that he had no part in it.

The knuckles on his right hand ache.

Vegard makes a sound, a long whine of pain. Bård sits down on the bed next to him, hands reaching for his brother before pausing. Vegard instinctively moves away from the presence by his side, breath hitching before continuing in short pants.

“You're safe now,” Bård says. He believes in his own words. He has to.

“I'll leave once you're better,” Bård promises. He doesn't elaborate that he'll leave for good.

He brings up the wet towel and rubs it against Vegard's blood-stained cheek. He applies as little pressure as he can to still get the job done, but Vegard moans and moves his head away from the touch regardless of his brother's attempts to be gentle and not hurt him further. Bård doesn't lose his patience. He cups the other cheek in his hand to stop his brother from moving. In his confused state, Vegard flinches and tries to escape the hold. Bård keeps his hands steady and continues with wiping the dirty face.

The blood comes off, first from the middle of the stains, leaving rusty red outlines on the round cheek. Bård presses harder against the dried patches, rubbing the coarse cloth against the sensitive skin. Vegard has gone limp under the touch, his consciousness fully fleeing when the body has been denied refuge from the situation his fuddled mind cannot process. Bård keeps wiping.

Removing the traces of his deed is almost too easy. Another swipe of the now red-stained towel and Vegard's face is mostly clean. Bård takes out a wet wipe, the same ones Vegard used to clean his cuts on the previous night, and brushes the finer material against the remaining spots of blood under his nose.

_If only it was that easy to wipe the guilt away._

“I'm sorry,” Bård whispers again, as if several repetitions will drive the message home.

Bård gathers the dirty towel and heads to the bathroom to throw it in the hamper. As he stands up, he comes face to face with a mirror above the sink. He pauses, looking at the face reflected on the smooth surface. The blue eyes look dim, nearly obscured by his drawn brows. The previous night's lack of sleep has left its mark on Bård's face in the form of darkened skin under his eyes. His mouth is a grim line, lips pressed together. Happiness is far from the visage in the mirror. Bård can barely look at himself. His cheeks are capable of lifting into a smile, carried by the upturned corners of his mouth, lighting up his face. He can't imagine ever making such a face again.

Bård closes his eyes and grips the white ceramic edges of the sink. His eyes are burning and he feels like there is something in his throat. He fights the release but the utter blackness of his mind takes over. The tears fall unhindered. He doesn't suppress the sobs. He allows everything to erupt and pour out. He's not worth the relief it brings but he doesn't care. No one can see, no one will know. He can take this moment for himself before returning to his brother and the mess he has made of him.

Vegard is still out cold when Bård enters the room, wiping the last traces of his weakness from the corners of his eyes. Bård pulls the blanket up, hiding the swollen left hand from sight. He hitches the cover higher, burying the red patches on Vegard's neck under the material. His brother's breathing sounds laboured, the chest rising and falling with a slightly congested wheeze. Bård understands that his brother might need medical attention, but he suspects that everything will be over for him if he takes Vegard anywhere. One question about how he received the injuries and Bård would probably confess everything in an unstoppable cascade of words purifying his soul. Maybe it would be better for him to be locked away. He wouldn't last for a day in prison at the mercy of criminals, but at least he couldn't hurt his brother again.

Bård leaves Vegard to rest and moves to the living room. The cats are nowhere to be seen. It makes Bård nervous. Can they smell Vegard's blood on him? Do they understand what happened or will they want to play with him again? He sits on the sofa and turns on the TV for lack of anything better to do. He can't really concentrate on the brainless American comedy the screen flashes in front of his eyes. He tries channel surfing but the only other things on offer are a political debate and a documentary about aviation accidents. He almost calls for Vegard to come see the plane program, but stops himself in time.

This is what he has cast away. In one irrational moment of rage and insanity he has ended their relationship. Bård flips back to the channel with the comedy show. He can't help but criticise the timing of the actors and the lame script, but at least it's work related and thus less painful than viewing something he and his brother are passionate about privately.

Suddenly Bård can't stay still any longer. He gets up and starts pacing around the small living room. The dark brown cat slips out from its hiding place and hops on the sofa where Bård was sitting. It curls up in the warm patch and relaxes with a yawn. Soon the other cat follows and settles itself next to his mate. Bård can't handle the sight of the two felines wrapped around each other, sharing the comfort. He returns to Vegard's bedroom but freezes as soon as he enters.

Two brown eyes are directed at him. Vegard looks around the room in terror, barely daring to breathe, blinking swiftly.

“Hey,” Bård says and approaches the bed. “Hey, it's okay.”

“Bård?” Vegard whispers.

Bård waits, holding the gaze. He can't judge whether Vegard will be angry or afraid. He wonders what his brother's final words to him will be.

“What happened?” Vegard asks and pauses to cough. He goes to hold his stinging sides, but moving either hand causes too much pain and he yelps instead.

“Bård, what happened to me?” Vegard gasps out as soon as he can talk again. Tears are gleaming in his eyes, reflecting the light from the hallway.

Bård can't react for a moment. Vegard doesn't remember. Be it shock or head trauma, he doesn't know it was Bård who assaulted him. A new hope starts blossoming in Bård. This is his salvation, his one way out from under the burden of guilt.

Bård closes his eyes and corrects himself. The guilt is still his. Nothing can absolve him from it. But no one needs to know that he is carrying it.

Vegard is looking at Bård expectantly. He must decide fast. The truth that will damn them both, or a lie that won't destroy Vegard's world?

“What do you remember?” Bård asks to buy himself more time to think.

“I... I don't know,” Vegard stammers. “We were here. We didn't go anywhere?”

“I was in the shower,” Bård starts. Vegard nods slowly. Bård doesn't ask if he's signalling that he remembers or that he's listening and wishes for Bård to proceed.

“I didn't hear anything of course, but the doorbell rang. Some drug addict was asking for money. You said you didn't have any cash, so he attacked you.”

Bård waits. The lie escaped his lips easily, his skills of improvisation aiding him in coming up with a plausible story in a heartbeat. His brother is looking upwards, trying to process the words and assimilate them with whatever jumbled mess he can see in his head.

“Everything hurts,” he finally says, closing his eyes.

“Yeah, he beat you pretty good in such a short time. When I came out, he escaped, the fucking coward! I would've gone after him but I was naked and you looked pretty bad.”

Bård feels shame burn his cheeks. He has just transformed himself into the hero of the story, instead of the villain he is. He doesn't deserve the glittering admiration in the brown eyes that are trained on him again.

“You saved me?” Vegard asks and he sounds so grateful that Bård feels his anger rise. He takes a deep breath, forcing the guilt to remain hidden.

“Nah, he just reacted to the opening door.”

“You saved me...” Vegard mutters. He's fading again, eyelids fluttering down and body relaxing.

“No, I really didn't,” Bård insists, not knowing if the words will catch his brother's fleeting consciousness. He brushes a strand of curls off the forehead, frowning at the heat his fingers encounter. He can't believe he forgot that Vegard is still sick.

“I'll take care of you now,” Bård promises. His brother doesn't reply. His breathing slows down and deepens, creating a contrast to the slight panting when awake. Bård sits down on the edge of the bed and smooths Vegard's hair back. Several areas of his brother's face have started to swell, especially near the eyes. His nose is bleeding slightly and Bård pulls a tissue from a box on the nightstand to wipe the thin trickle of red away.

“I'm so sorry,” Bård whispers again. The tears are returning but he fights them this time, not risking Vegard seeing them if he suddenly wakes up.

His brother is lying restlessly, moaning and twitching occasionally. Bård tries to comfort him by placing his hand on the nearest shoulder. Vegard flinches from the touch and cries out. Bård can't make out what he's saying, but the frantic pleading tone tells him not to touch the wounded man again.

Bård wishes he knew whether Vegard is reacting to the presence near him – or specifically to Bård. Whether his memories are gone or if he's too confused and battered to understand the images in his head. Whether Bård is damned or not.

With a sigh, Bård gets to his feet. Vegard needs to rest, but he should also get some water in him. It's been hours since their meagre breakfast and Bård's quick lunch. He thinks about their mother's open arms and laden dinner table, several pots of steaming hot food and tasty desserts. The chair where their father always sits and imparts his endless wisdom on every subject under the stars. Bård can't help but smile in amusement, flooded with fond memories.

The cosy feeling soon turns into an acute sting of loss. Even if Vegard has retained no memories of the events that day, Bård will always know. He will never be able to look their parents in the eyes again.

Bård stomps to the kitchen and takes a glass out of the cupboard. He fills it with cold water and curses silently. Is there no way out of this mess? Will his departure be the only solution? Who will he hurt the most when he leaves?

With dragging steps, Bård returns to his brother's bedroom. Vegard is sleeping restlessly, head twitching minutely from side to side and mouth opening and closing. Bård shakes him and calls his name. Vegard is slow to wake, but eventually bloodshot brown eyes are looking at Bård from under a fringe of messy curls.

“Can you sit up? You need to drink,” Bård says, not waiting for an answer. He sets the glass on the bedside table and scoops his brother up by the shoulders. Vegard winces in pain when Bård puts pressure on his right arm.

“You okay?” Bård asks as he holds the glass out for his brother. Vegard's hands are shaking too badly to grip the glass properly, so Bård helps him, supporting the trembling fingers with his own. Vegard manages half a glass before he clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head.

“Feeling sick?”

“I don't know,” Vegard mutters.

“I think you took a couple of good hits to your head. Should see your face, the nose is probably broken. You'll look all rugged now,” Bård says and realises the truth behind his words. Vegard will bear the marks of what he did to him for a long time, maybe for the rest of his life.

“I'm sure modern medicine can straighten it right up,” Bård laughs.

“Feel bad,” Vegard says.

“Shall I fetch you a bucket?” Bård asks and tenses his legs, ready to act.

The older brother is staring into space, not reacting to Bård's question.

“Vegard?”

“Yah?”

“You kinda spaced out there for a moment. Sure you're okay?”

Another silence stretches. Bård is waiting for any response from his brother while Vegard is still, blinking rapidly.

“Vegard, you're scaring me now.” The irony is not lost on Bård. If Vegard knew what his brother did to him, he'd be terrified.

“Hey!” Bård snaps and pushes Vegard's shoulder. Half a minute passes before the older brother yelps in pain.

“You okay?” Bård asks again, knowing how pointless the question is. Vegard doesn't appear to be even listening. He sits up in the bed and pauses. Bård looks at him with raised brows. Vegard tosses his legs over the side and stands up, knee bumping against Bård's who is sitting on the mattress.

“For fuck's sake, just talk to me! Where are you going?” Bård asks with heat entering his voice. Vegard doesn't reply. He stands in front of the bed and lifts his hands to cover his face. Before Bård can ask him what he's doing, Vegard drops to the floor.

Accompanied by a strangled moan, Vegard arches his back and throws his arms to the sides. Bård stands there, unable to comprehend what is happening. When Vegard starts convulsing, his head pounding against the hardwood, Bård rushes into action. He slides to the floor and straddles his brother's chest, slipping his arms behind Vegard's neck to keep him from hitting his skull against the wood again.

Bård is surprised by the strength he feels under his legs. Vegard's muscles are jerking violently, nearly throwing Bård off him. He clings on, not restricting the uncontrolled movements but supporting the upper body enough to protect the head. Vegard occasionally releases a moan or a screech with the air being pushed out of his lungs, sounding like he's in agony. Bloody spit leaks out of his mouth and Bård fears he will choke in the supine position.

The seizure lasts for several minutes. Bård counts them frantically in his head, having nothing on hand to keep the exact timing. Vegard tosses his limbs about and bucks his hips, back smacking against the floor with each larger movement. Bård tries to anticipate which muscle will contract next but there is nothing but chaos in his brother's body.

Finally, the movements cease. The change is gradual, the shudders slowly fading to nothingness until Vegard is left gasping for breath. Bård turns him to his side, feeling the muscles tremble after the exertion. Vegard coughs some bloody spit on the floor, staining his lips red.

“Vegard?” Bård tries.

The older brother lies still, chest rapidly expanding and contracting with the gulps for air. Bård places his hand against Vegard's back, needing to feel the heat of his body and connect on a primal level through touch.

“Vegard,” Bård says again after a moment, more firmly this time. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Vegard whispers. His eyes remain shut but he's listening. His breathing slows down to normal pace.

“How are you feeling?” Bård asks, trying to engage him in conversation and help him return to reality.

“Tired,” Vegard mutters. He coughs a couple of times and spits more blood out.

Bård repositions himself behind Vegard and carefully puts his arms around the slim torso. He lifts his brother to his lap and leans towards the wall, supporting Vegard against his chest in a sitting position. The older brother has no strength to hold himself up and sags in Bård's secure grip, head leaning on his shoulder, forehead pressed against his neck.

“It's okay,” Bård says quietly. Moisture is starting to seep into his pants through Vegard's. There is a yellowish puddle on the floor where Vegard lied. Bård knows it's something that can happen during a seizure and he makes no mention of it. He doesn't want Vegard to have to feel shame and humiliation for a natural reaction, completely beyond his control. Bård scrunches his eyes shut. This is on him as well. Each new misery is directly caused by him.

The brothers stay in the same position for a long time. Bård holds Vegard up, revelling in the relief of the warm body pressing against his, feeling the trembling muscles keep working to pull in air. Bård doesn't say anything. The closeness is enough, reassuring and comforting. Vegard is alive and will keep on living.

The weight against Bård anchors him to the only truth that matters: he loves his brother. Vegard is immeasurably precious to him. They have gone through life together, sometimes diverting from the common path but always keeping within shouting distance of each other.

_And that's what you nearly threw away in one moment of insanity_ , Bård reminds himself. The pain that was given to him the previous night was not something he ever intended to pass on. He nearly laughs at the bitter irony. By his doing, their paths have merged again. Was it fate that guided his hand? Was he not allowed to keep the fear for himself; is he destined to share everything with his brother?

“Bård,” Vegard says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“I'm cold,” Vegard whispers, in that tone he uses when there's something wrong but he doesn't want to admit it, uselessly trying to hold up the mask of strength.

Bård looks at the bed, just a couple of metres away. Vegard is shivering against him and digging his shoulders painfully into his chest, trying to absorb the heat.

“Let's get you to a shower first,” Bård suggests. Vegard makes a small sound of confusion. He hasn't realised yet.

“Don't worry about it,” Bård says, hoping his brother will remain ignorant. But of course Vegard starts taking stock of himself and soon figures it out.

“Oh fuck,” Vegard breathes.

“It's fine,” Bård tries again. He leans his brother forwards a bit to extricate his legs from beneath him in order to stand up. The movement makes Vegard more aware of the moisture and its spread.

“Just leave me alone,” he mutters. “Fuck!”

Bård can tell Vegard is close to crumbling. His voice quivers and his eyes are screwed shut, nearly hidden under his hair.

“Hey, it's okay. This can happen when - “

“Shut up! Don't talk to me like I'm a fucking child!” Vegard shouts and opens his glimmering eyes, leaking tears to his cheeks with each furious blink. He lifts his shaking hands to his face in a futile defensive gesture.

“Vegard,” Bård says, trying to colour his voice with his love. He has never been good at it. His syllables come out flat, not offering his brother any nuances to examine. He grabs Vegard's hands and pulls them down to reveal tear-filled brown eyes that focus on him, messaging the shame and the hurt and the fear Vegard is drowning in. Bård recognises the look from a mirror.

“I know,” Bård says.

“Sorry,” Vegard mutters, voicing the words that Bård should be shouting at him.

“Nothing to apologise for,” Bård says and means it with all his being. Vegard doesn't understand the truth beneath the words. And if Bård can keep the guilt dormant within himself, his brother never truly will.

Bård climbs to his feet and bends down to pick his brother up. Vegard isn't much help in the process, too unsteady to stand and too depleted to support himself. Bård hoists him up in his arms, trying not to grunt at the weight stinging his ribs painfully. He walks to the bathroom with Vegard leaning his warm, sweaty head against the crook of his neck.

“Think you can stay upright?” Bård asks. Vegard shrugs in reply. Bård sets him standing under the shower head, not letting go until he's certain Vegard has his legs under him. Even then his brother sways slightly and takes support from the wall. But Vegard appears determined and starts pulling his t-shirt off, so Bård judges it safe to leave him unattended.

“Grabbing some towels,” Bård explains and exits the room to give his brother some privacy. He returns to the bedroom to rummage around in the closets, grabbing two thin towels of an undetermined greyish beige colour. They look old and Bård wonders which of their elderly relatives has given them to his brother.

As Bård turns away from the closet, his eyes encounter the mess on the floor. For a moment he stands there, unable to tear his eyes off the offending stains. The knowledge that he's responsible for each drop penetrates his mind, drilling the guilt deep.

_Why did you do it?_

He needs to clean up before the cats spread the fluids around. He has to hide the evidence before Vegard realises that the details in Bård's story don't add up. He has to get rid of his brother's blood on the floor before he goes mad.

Bård sets to work. He knows where Vegard keeps the cleaning products even if he has never utilised them before. It feels almost like sacrilege to touch the bottles and rags that Vegard uses so lovingly to scrub his home every single week without fail. Bård sometimes slacks off from tidying up, but not his brother. One speck of dust is enough to ruin his day. Bård can't even count the times he has made fun of his brother's obsessiveness.

Wiping the floor is quickly accomplished; all evidence of his transgressions are gone with a few furious swipes of a cloth. Bård scrubs the last partially dried bloodstain away and wipes the floor with a bundle of paper towels. Satisfied with his work, he goes to put the cleaning items back where they belong. He returns to the bedroom to grab the towels from where he abandoned them on the bed before switching tasks. It only then occurs to him that he hasn't heard running water during the whole time.

With a swiftly beating heart, Bård runs to the bathroom, expecting another seizure – or worse. What he finds is his brother, sitting under the shower head with his shirt off, leaning his head against the white tiles of the wall.

“Vegard?” He asks, drawing his brother's attention. He doesn't meet Bård's eyes.

“I... I couldn't,” the older brother whispers, hands going up to his face again, the swollen left one shaking badly and barely touching the skin.

Anger roils inside Bård. It's not directed at Vegard. It's not even really directed at himself. The anger is a shapeless mass, like hot air, encompassing everything but having no direction. The injustice of it all makes his blood boil. Bård closes his eyes and pictures an empty field in his head, void of everything but faded yellow wheat swaying gently in a cool summer breeze. His anger subsides.

“I'll help,” Bård promises and sets the towels on conveniently placed hooks along the white wall. He first strips out of his own clothes and throws them on the floor before going to his brother.

Bård slips one arm behind Vegard's back and lifts him enough to pull off the soiled grey sweatpants from under him. Vegard averts his gaze as Bård removes his briefs too, cheeks going slightly red. By the time Bård has gotten rid of both socks, Vegard is shaking with the cold and hugging himself one-armed.

”Couldn't even take your own socks off, you lazy bastard,” Bård grins but the words ring hollow. He falls back to the oppressing silence.

Bård pulls Vegard up on his feet. The older brother groans and grimaces but stays vertical.

“Dizzy,” he says, eyes scrunched shut. A fresh trail of blood is trickling down his cheek, dripping on the white tiles from the tip of his chin, creating perfect red circles where they land.

“I'll be quick,” Bård promises. He leans Vegard against the wall and turns on the water, hissing when the initially cold spray hits his bare skin. He turns the tap to the left and hums in pleasure as the water swiftly heats up.

Vegard looks dangerously close to collapse, so Bård puts his arm around his brother's back and pulls him closer to his body. Vegard's breath hitches when Bård puts pressure on a sore spot near the ribs on his right, but he stays silent and lifts his left hand on his brother's shoulders. With Vegard somewhat secured in place, Bård reaches for a green circular sponge and a bottle of shower gel. His hands encounter a brown container full of coconut-scented liquid.

”Oh hell no,” Bård says and is about to crack a joke, but Vegard chooses that moment to lean his forehead against Bård's shoulder. The younger brother holds his silence. He's not sure if Vegard is fully aware of the situation or where he is. He carefully runs the sponge down along his brother's back, testing to see how he reacts.

Vegard is too sore in several places to tolerate even the softest touch, wincing and gasping when Bård hits a particularly bad spot. The younger brother keeps at it though and spreads the bubbles all over Vegard's back. He supports the smaller man with one arm and leans him back a bit, granting himself access to the chest. Bruises are forming all over the lean body, colouring the skin yellowish purple. Bård can barely look at the sides where sickening patterns are stretched over the ribs. He brusquely brings the soft material against them and wipes it up and down. Vegard tries to pull out of the grasp and Bård nearly allows him to slip.

Bård forces himself to focus. He is responsible for each mark. He is responsible for everything his brother is going through. But no matter how many times he runs the sponge over the bruises, he can only cover them with foamy bubbles, not erase them. He can't escape the guilt that easily.

Bård runs the sponge along Vegard's muscular legs, noting how the thighs occasionally twitch under the strain of standing. He keeps his hands away from the most private areas, resorting to squeezing some soapy water to slide down along Vegard's flat stomach and back.

“The things I do for you...” Bård mutters, mind always turning to humour, no matter how dry and laconic, when distressed. He doesn't say anything further but picks up the shower nozzle and allows the warm liquid to immerse his brother, washing the suds away. Bård's handiwork is revealed from underneath in the shape of blueish bruises that stand out against the slightly reddened skin. The younger brother averts his eyes and concentrates on meticulously covering each area of the body with water.

After the final rinse, Vegard is panting with pain and needs to sit down. Bård frowns at his hard work of cleaning his brother being ruined but allows Vegard to sink to the wet tiles anyway. He huddles into a small ball, lifting his knees to nearly touch his forehead. Bård counts a minute in his head and urges Vegard to rise.

“Don't wanna,” Vegard mutters. He has closed his eyes and is leaning his head against the wall, twitching with the shivers.

“Come on, just to the bedroom, then you can lie down,” Bård tries to motivate his brother. Vegard is worryingly pale, emphasising the slight flush on his cheeks.

“Up we go,” Bård says and pulls his brother to his feet again, grasp firm when the smaller man doesn't find his balance immediately.

“Said don't talk to me like I'm fucking retarded,” Vegard says but there's no heat in his voice, only exhausted defeat.

Bård picks up one of the ancient towels and wraps it around his brother the best he can while Vegard clings to him with one arm. He doesn't pause to do anything about the wet hair, allowing water to drip down along the way as he walks them to the bedroom. The distance isn't great but Vegard barely makes it under his own strength, dragging his feet while Bård holds him upright and pulls him forwards.

When the brothers enter the room, Bård notices both cats sitting on Vegard's bed. He motions for them to move but they lie down side by side instead. He helps his brother sit down and turns to find clean clothes. Bård pulls on the first pair of boxer shorts he finds, pale blue ones with tiny white airplanes on them, not bothering with any other clothes for himself. He finds green shorts with Garfield's orange head imprinted all over them for his brother. Bård can't help but smile: he remembers the hideous piece of clothing from younger days. They could be a present from Vegard's first girlfriend, the details are lost in a haze of time.

“Want a shirt too?” Bård asks.

When there's no answer, he turns around to find Vegard slumped on the bed, fast asleep, head almost touching the nearest cat. Bård's smile fades and he decides on a loose white t-shirt, if only to make himself feel better by not seeing the bruises marring his brother's skin.

Manoeuvring Vegard's limp body turns out to be a challenge. He pulls on the briefs with great effort and somehow manages to wiggle both arms through the sleeves of the shirt. Vegard comes half-awake when Bård touches the left hand with too much force and sits up screaming when Bård tries to lift the right arm past shoulder level.

Bård sits on the bed and puts his arms around Vegard's back, pressing the smaller body to his chest, trying to reach through the agony and confusion and reassure him with his presence. Vegard soon stops screaming and goes lax against his brother. Bård keeps him there, pulling the t-shirt properly down to hide all skin. Vegard sniffs, breath coming in uneven pants.

“Sorry,” Bård says and slips his fingers amongst the wet curls. He guides his brother's head to lean against his shoulder, allowing Vegard to fully relax in the position. The shivering subsides and the gasping ceases. The clock on the wall continues ticking, counting minutes of stillness. Bård observes the brown cat jump down from the bed and leave the room. The orange one stays where it is, content in the soft warmth of the bed.

“I'm so sorry,” Bård whispers, rocking the body in his arms slightly. Vegard is slack in sleep and the words miss their intended recipient. It doesn't matter.

“Had I ki- ... if this had ended differently, I don't think anything would've mattered anymore,” Bård confesses in hushed tones. Vegard is a silent, too warm weight against his chest, comforting and distressing at the same time. He's alive, but he's a mess. Bård lifts a hand to press against his brother's cheek. The flushed skin is hot to the touch and Vegard's breathing is sounding ragged again. Bård thinks about the red welts on the delicate neck. They'll probably form bruises later. He fears he'll see the shape of his own hands in them.

“Am I selfish?” Bård asks his somnolent brother.

Vegard doesn't react. Maybe it's already too late. Internal bleeding is possible and Vegard could be dead by morning if Bård doesn't get him the help he needs. But he has waited too long already, he could never explain why he didn't call an ambulance and the police the second he chased the imaginary assailant away and found his brother bleeding on the floor.

“Will my inaction cause the thing I dread?”

Vegard has no replies. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest indicates that he's still present. Bård fears he's slipping away. He doesn't need to find his phone and look up symptoms for concussion. He knows it's bad. He knows he's gone too far. But still he hesitates.

“Fuck!” Bård shouts. The orange cat vacates the bed and joins the other one in the living room, startled by the sudden outburst. The solidarity between the felines makes Bård burn in shame. He closes his eyes and focuses on the hot skin against his skin. Vegard's wet hair is making trails of water run down Bård's side. The coldness feels good. It's uncomfortable and makes the fine hairs on his arms stand up.

Vegard coughs against his shoulder and Bård remembers what he was doing. He reaches for the rumpled blanket on the bed and pulls it aside. With one hand holding the neck, he lowers his brother to lay down and covers him with the heavy cloth.

Night has fallen and darkness permeates every corner of the street outside. Bård retrieves a chair from the kitchen and pauses long enough to gaze through the window. The street light outside the living room has burned out. The other ones further along the road are casting sickly yellow light and penetrating the black with their glow. Bård looks at the broken one, standing uselessly between the pavement and a ditch, a tall metal beacon with no purpose.

“Failed by the one who should guide you and watch over you...” Bård mumbles to himself.

With chair in hands, Bård returns to the bedroom. Vegard is sleeping peacefully for a change. Bård sets the simple wooden chair down next to the bed and returns to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. He brings a full one with him and settles down. It'll be a long night, but he won't abandon his brother. If they make it through without incident, Bård will most likely leave in the morning.

If they don't make it through the night without incident, if there's even the smallest problem with Vegard, Bård swears to himself that he will get help. Doing so means that his personal and professional lives will be over. When he next parts way with his brother, it will be for good. But at least Vegard will live.

“You've suffered enough,” Bård whispers and smooths a stray strand of curls off Vegard's forehead.

They will need a miracle to get to the other side of the darkness intact.


End file.
